Floating
by runningondreams
Summary: A character study of Tezuka Kunimitsu for his birthday. no romance.


**_Title: _**Floating

_**Author:** runningondreams_

_**Disclaimer**: Tennis no oujisama belongs to Konomi-san and Shonen Jump. I own no characters, names, images, plot-lines, places, or production rights._

_**Warnings: **erm… distinct lack of shonen ai? Is that a warning for this fandom?_

_**Summary: **A character study of Tezuka Kunimitsu. One-shot. Happy Birthday!_

When he was five years old, Tezuka Kunimitsu took up jujitsu. Every morning he followed ojiisan to the dojo, running to keep up with his grandfather's long strides. He watched the older students jealously as they effortlessly completed complicated feats of coordination while he stumbled clumsily though the basics. Even among his peers he felt awkward as his small limbs refused to react the way he wanted them to. The others seemed to find it so much easier, their movements were so much smoother, and it just wasn't fair that his body wouldn't listen to him. When his class moved on to the next belt without him Kunimitsu held back his tears until the end of the ceremony, swallowing his pride for grandfather's sake until everyone had gone home to celebrate. Then ojiisan said something, something stupid and normal he was sure, and he could taste hot salt in his mouth and he couldn't breathe, and all he could think was _why, why, whywhywhy! _And Ojiisan held him until his shoulders stopped shaking, the master's uniform wrinkling under small hands as he stroked the small back soothingly.

"_Daijoubu 'mitsu-kun. It's okay." _And when Kunimitsu stammered out his helplessness, his frustration, the unanswerable questions, ojiisan just smiled.

"_You're stubborn Kunimitsu-kun. In a class of naturals you try to get by on force of will alone. Will isn't enough against natural talent." _The words did nothing to reassure the boy and he nearly said so before the man took his small hands gently.

"_But talent isn't everything."_

That afternoon ojiisan began to teach him control. He learned to anticipate his body's needs and wants, to use his natural inclinations to his advantage, to manipulate himself. With technique and knowledge came control, and with control, skill.

Ojiisan said control was a way of life. If you trained yourself well enough, if you dedicated yourself, if you understood yourself and your body, you could do anything necessary. Control of self was strength, control of others was power, and strength was always more important than power. Strength could strike where power failed.

Sometimes he thought his grandson might have understood the lesson a little too well.

After three years, when Kunimitsu inevitably quit the martial arts and followed the magnetic pull of the tennis courts he found that even with natural talent the control he'd learned was useful. Talent meant that he didn't have to think about where to move or how, but it was control that earned him the title of 'prodigy.' It was the control of a steady hand for every swing, of perfectly balanced weight for every shot. It was the ability to wait, to extend the minimum energy for the greatest results, to watch for weaknesses while presenting none. Control meant he learned techniques right the first time, practiced them correctly, and executed them flawlessly. Control was the zero shiki drop shot and the Tezuka zone. Control was being the pillar Yamato-buchou wanted, even in the face of hatred, and jealousy.

And later, after he'd shattered expectations and earned his place in the national scene, control was what allowed him to risk everything for two opponents: Echizen, for the tennis world, and Atobe, for himself.

xxx

When Tezuka Kunimitsu was eight years old his mother read him a book about the integrity of Japanese citizens and the importance of honesty. Integrity, the book stated, was truth of being, the most valued of virtues. Kunimitsu asked how someone could be an integral and she laughed, refusing to tell him the joke.

Okaasan said that integrity was what you did when no one else was watching. It was the little decisions that defined your character because no one else cared that you made them. Good integrity could carry you through hardship and frustration, and people would always be drawn to it. Integrity meant living a life without regrets, and without secrets. Kunimitsu nodded seriously and began treating every action as if the whole world would watch him do it. Ojiisan, at least, could be depended upon to point out any discrepancies between public and private in the most embarrassing way possible.

After a few months the conversation and its meaning faded from his mind but the habit remained, and its effect was permanent. People were drawn to him, and trusted him automatically. Everything he said he would do, he did. Every promise was delivered, every trusting confession kept secret. His decisions were clear, open, and final. It was for this trait that he was granted vice-captaincy in his second year of junior high and captaincy in his third. It was one reason why the Seigaku tennis team flourished, drawing players who were just as stubborn, willful, and determined as he was. It was the reason neither Ryuzaki-sensei nor any of his teammates stopped him from playing with everything he had despite the risk of injury.

He lived without regrets.

xxx

For his ninth birthday Kunimitsu's father took him on a fishing and camping trip, just the two of them. They trekked uphill for most of a day, the boy scrambling eagerly over the boulders and logs too big to simply step on. He was exhausted long before the last red rays of the sunset faded from the sky. That night they watched the glinting river, too tired to put out lines or light the fire, just soaking in the stillness after the panicked rushing of the city and listening to the quiet roaring of the river. The boy commented on the lack of people, and his father ruffled the wispy hair affectionately.

Otousan said that people were like water: necessary, changing, and treacherously deep. They could be sweet or bitter, hot or cold, and they always reflected the lights of life while hiding in its shadows. You could never hold them in your hands or force them down a path, and if you stood as a rock against the flow you would be worn away and lost.

He often mused that his son never had been content to simply drift.

When life rose up before him a few years later in the form of an angry senpai and threatened to sweep him off his feet with heavy expectations and the shattered remnants of dreams, Tezuka Kunimitsu learned to swim. When responsibilities piled on his shoulders he taught himself to race the current, to divert the stream by forging the way, to maintain equilibrium at all times.

It was an extension of control, of power and strength and of integrity. It became, simply, the way he was, until he could no longer remember a time when he had been anything else.

But sometimes, when he gripped a racket tightly and felt the vibrations of the ball's bounce traveling up through his feet and shivering up his shoulders, sometimes Tezuka could feel something else there, waiting for him. An ocean of possibilities. Sometimes he could lose himself in the moment, simply acting and reacting, closing his eyes and letting himself drift. But then the rally would fail, or the game would end, and control descended once more.

When Tezuka Kunimitsu was fourteen he played the most demanding tennis match of his life. Control kept him focused, allowed him to watch the game draw itself out slowly, and held back exhaustion stubbornly. Integrity ensured that the creaking in his shoulder did not go unnoticed. Integrity meant that he deemed the price acceptable. He watched the shifting stream that was his opponent carefully, assessing the depth, the flavor, the warmth of this person who shared his strength, his honesty, his passion. And when he lost, when control failed and the screaming flood of humanity threatened to engulf him, when Atobe Keigo gripped his listless, fatigued hand and held it up for the world to see, declaring it a game to be remembered, he knew it was true.

And for the first time in eight years, he allowed himself to float.

xxx

owari

xxx


End file.
